


The Old Church Down The Street

by CadetDru



Series: Stare Straight At The Sun [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Extended Scene, Fallen Angels, Gen, The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: Rerouting a bomb, killing some Nazis, and one more demonic miracle.





	The Old Church Down The Street

**Author's Note:**

> Concrete beneath my feet

Crowley was very good at performing blessings. He could bless the Hell… the Heaven… he could bless the Humanity in and/or out of someone. He could perform miracles that would make angels weep. He'd never invited Aziraphale to watch, but he knew that if he did and if Aziraphale accepted and then did not interfere, he would weep at the sheer beauty of Crowley's work. 

That wasn't quite right; he had performed miracles for Aziraphale, at and around him. He could do one more. Rerouting the bombing, no problem. Protecting Aziraphale and his precious, precious books, no problem. Walking into a church, problem. 

Walking actually into a real, holy church. He felt every millimeter he had Fallen from grace, all pain he had ever inflicted and the pain he took credit for inflicting. It burned at him, no matter how much he hopped around.

It was worth it. Even when Aziraphale blamed him for the idiots who were trying, in fact, to kill Aziraphale and then Crowley himself. It was still worth it. As long as Aziraphale was safe, nothing else mattered.

That wasn't a comfortable thought to sit with. Fortunately, the bomb dropped. Fortunately, the holy wTer was far enough away that it didn't hit Crowley. Crowley wouldn't gave out it past Aziraphale to ensure that. Aziraphale kept them safe from Crowley's destruction. All was right with the world.

Aziraphale didn't remember his books until that moment. Crowley had, of course he had. The books were the best part of the miracle. Aziraphale wouldn't have stayed dead for too long, but he would have mourned the books until the end of the world, which was nearing. 

"Lift home?" Crowley said, nonchalant as ever.

Aziraphale didn't answer. He glowed with what Crowley assumed was angelic gratitude, generalized love for the world, some such feeling as that. 

"Angel?" Crowley called. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually used Aziraphale's name. It just didn't roll off the tongue. 

Aziraphale sighed. He seemed to only speak in sighs now, with big eyes radiating out kindness. He carefully walked down to Crowley. "You wouldn't want me to say thank you."

"No," Crowley said. 

"And it would definitely be wrong for me to say you make a wonderful angel."

"Made, angel. Past tense."

"All the more reason for me not to say it," Aziraphale said. "Yes, a lift home, if you don't mind." He squared his shoulders. "Thank you, angel," Aziraphale said. Crowley wrote it off to him being dazed by the attack.


End file.
